


Burn With Me Tonight

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: Narcos (TV), Pedro Pascal - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Javier is a hot gardener, Smut and Fluff, in a tight white t-shirt, pure escapism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24739225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: It's been two and a half long years since your husband passed away, and your neighbour thinks it's about time you got back on the dating (or at least sex) horse.
Relationships: Javier Peña/Reader, Javier Peña/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Strongly influenced by the gorgeous "Fire Meet Gasoline" Sia music video.

“Happy birthday to me,” you muttered, staring up at the ceiling as the sun crested over the far hills. You had a birthday brunch with friends at your favourite taco place planned for the weekend, but today, nothing.

If you tried hard, you knew you wouldn’t look at the empty place in the bed beside you where Sam used to sleep.

Shoving it aside, you idly fingered the ring that hung around your neck on an old, thin leather thong, and headed into the shower to pummel yourself with hot water. When you came out in a robe, towelling off your hair, a duo of male voices could be heard distantly through your open bedroom window, and the notification light blinked green on your smartphone.

MRS CHEN: Happy birthday, babe. Enjoy the view.

Puzzled, you looked out of the window to see two tall men hauling sacks of turf and plants into Mrs Chen’s garden. One was blonde, lanky, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, the other, you couldn’t see too well, but he looked darker, messy hair, facial scruff, wearing a white tee that showed off his biceps.

You’d become friends with your neighbour soon after moving in - the low brick wall in the garden meant you saw each other often, and the retiree was often chatty. Then, over time, and especially once Sam got sick, very sick, she’d become a confidante and a treasured friend. Not to mention she had a potty mouth and never seemed surprised by anything. Ever. In fact, at her divorce party, she’d told you that she was now “one hundred percent in charge of my own orgasms. No actual humans needed.”

You loved her.

MRS CHEN:  The heat! The sweat. The dry dusty dirt on their hands. Those shirts don't stand a chance.

MRS CHEN: Patience, young grasshopper. Soon.

MRS CHEN: All will be revealed.

You snorted out a laugh and closed the curtains, getting dressed. Mrs Chen had been planning to use her divorce settlement to make her yard into a paradise, and you were happy she'd got there at last. She loved to be outside with a book and a glass of iced tea. The overgrown weeds and gnarled tree stumps had spoiled her enjoyment of the space thus far.

As was your habit, you moved into the garden to have your breakfast, setting out your solitary plate, bowl and mug, picturing Sam’s stuff there. Had he always used the red mug? Or the green one?

Two and a half years since his death, and sometimes, you struggled to picture certain things about him, and that made you alternatively relieved and horrified.

Horrified because you never wanted to erase the man you loved, and relieved because, well. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life in this constant-daggers-of-heartache limbo. 

Could you?

As you sat down with some work papers to look through as you ate, the blond gardener waved to you over the wall. “Hey.”

“Morning,” you replied, conversational but polite. “Hell of a job for you in this heat.”

He grinned, unfazed. “That’s Texas for you. Hey, Javi, hurry it up, will ya?”

His colleague appeared and glanced at you, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated manner, then smiling, and you noticed that his soulful brown eyes crinkled at the corners. It was  _ charming. _ He dumped a final huge sack of equipment on the patio, then straightened up and stretched, his worn, soft white tee riding up to reveal a wide strip of tanned golden skin, bisected by an arrow of chocolate-brown hair.

For the first time since you’d stood over Sam’s grave in the barely-there spring rain, the clouds low in the sky, you felt something like lust stir, deep in your belly.

Mrs Chen chose that moment to come outside on to her patio to greet you.

“This is Steve, and this is Javier,” she said, her back to them as she spoke to you. Her voice remained normal but her eyebrows were telling a different story. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “They’ll be here for a few days, working on the garden.” 

She winked at you. “ Fertilising my field. Ploughing my compost. Tiling the good earth. Enriching my soil. Keep an eye on them for me, will you?”

“Oh, er, great,” you enthused, sipping your tea, trying not to make it obvious that you were drinking in Javier’s messy locks - would they feel soft? - and daydreaming about what his voice would sound like. If his moustache would tickle when he kissed your lips - and other places.

As if he’d heard your thoughts, Javier turned to Mrs Chen. “So, can you run us through what you want, one more time? Just to make sure we’re on the same page.” His deep voice had a husky edge, like he’d used it too much, and the timbre of it sank into your veins. You pressed your legs together, and at that moment, Javier met your gaze, and something passed over his face, through his soulful, dark eyes, that almost made it feel like he knew your thoughts. “So we make sure you get…. What you want,” he added, and you felt the heat of his fine-vintage-whiskey eyes just as surely as if he’d touched you.

You looked away hurriedly and immersed yourself in paperwork.

And that should have been the end of it.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs Chen is up to her badass tricks again.

MRS CHEN: Oh, dear. I have run out of mint. It’s an emergency. I’ll have to run to the store. It’ll take a while. You know how hard it is to find fresh produce around here. Can you give the gardeners some refreshments while I’m out?

You read the text from your study, looking down at Mrs Chen’s garden. A large mint plant could be seen by the back door. Thriving.

YOU: I see what you’re doing.

MRS CHEN: Who, me? I'm just an innocent retiree who needs mint for her tea.

You shook your head and laughed. Through the open window you heard Mrs Chen telling Javier and Steve that you would bring them some milk and cookies. “It’s not 1980,” you muttered, but, whatever.

You couldn’t deny that you’d quite like to see Javier a little closer.

You heard the sound of Mrs Chen’s car pulling out of the drive and pressed your lips together. Were you really going to go over there and serve them lemonade and cookies like… like what?

Like you wanted to lick a strip right down Javier’s happy trail?

“Fuck,” you muttered, because you really  _ did _ want to lick a strip right down his happy trail.

You tried to immerse yourself back into work, but against your better judgement, you peeked out the window. Steve was digging a hole, and Javier was setting out patio tiles. He stretched, then drew a forearm over his brow, and dug a crushed ballcap from his pocket, sticking it on his head hurriedly, the edges of his hair poking out.

He called out something to Steve in that deep, husky-edge voice, and your stomach muscles fluttered.

“Okay, Mrs Chen.” you groused. “You win.”

You made up a pitcher of lemonade and tossed in six ice cubes, set it on a tray with two tall glasses and a plate of cookies from your pantry.

When you came outside and stepped over the wall, Steve looked up and grinned. “Oh man, if I wasn’t married, I’d propose right now.”

Javier’s reaction was more subdued, but he set down the tiles, straightened, and met your gaze, a slow smile curving his lips, a little predatory, and the combo of that with his white t-shirt and tight jeans made your hormones sit up and  _ beg. _

“Um, here.” You offered the platter to Javier, and he took it, and your fingers brushed. You caught his scent, clean sweat and soap and something slightly spicy, unique, and swallowed back a thick, heavy pang of lust, jolted right to your belly.

“Thanks, that’s…. Really kind of you.” His slow drawl said he had all the time in the world for you, and that made you feel faint, in a really girlish way.

He set the tray down on a table and poured them both a glass. Steve took his gratefully. 

The sun beat down as they drank, and you tried, and failed, not to look as Javier tipped his glass back. A drop of condensation escaped the glass and ran down his jaw and down his neck, disappearing into the vee of his white t-shirt.

_ Holy. Fuck. _

“Um, well, I guess I’ll go,” you said, stepping backwards. “If you, um, need anything-”

The next thing you knew you were hurtling backwards, your arms windmilling-

“Gotta be careful,  _ querida,” _ Javi murmured, and you looked up into his big, soft soulful brown eyes. “Almost tripped over the wall.”

You’d grabbed his shoulders as you fell and you smoothed your hands down his arms, letting go as he set you back on your feet. God, it was hot when he spoke Spanish, the huskiness of his voice lending itself really well to the musical language. 

“Thanks,” you breathed. “Okay well, if you need a lemonade top up, let me know.”

Javi held your gaze, and his brown eyes were the colour of your favourite chocolate. “Thanks, ma’am. I feel like one taste won’t be quite enough.”

And then he turned back to his work like he hadn’t just absolutely  _ destroyed _ you with images of him kneeling between your legs, letting you find out if that little moustache would tickle when he brought you to a shuddering orgasm.

You stepped over the wall and tried to get your brain back into work mode.

Needless to say, it proved difficult, especially when you were sat in the garden reading through a strategic plan draft when Steve called out, “Hey Javi. I’m going to run to the deli for lunch. You want something?”

“Nah, I’ve got stuff with me. Thanks, man.”

You heard the clatter of the door and footsteps as he left, and you held your breath.

“Ah, ma’am? You there?” Javi’s voice drifted over the wall.

You stood up and stepped to the wall. The ballcap hid Javi’s eyes. “Do you, um, need something?”

He gestured to the wall, which was wide enough for an impromptu seat. His skin was slick with sweat, the t-shirt clinging to him in obscene ways. “I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me.”


End file.
